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“ W hat a stubborn, willful creature,” Nathaniel said, watching her storm away. Then his focus returned to the solicitor. “I never thought my uncle would wish to wed someone as spirited as that. He always preferred ladies of a more docile temperament.”

The solicitor shrugged. “There were other considerations at play when it came to the match with Her Grace.”

“I see,” Nathaniel nodded. “Of course, given my uncle’s advanced years, there were not many lords willing to sell off their precious daughters to be bred.”

The solicitor gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes narrowed.

“Forgive my bluntness,” Nathaniel said. “But we both know what this marriage was for—to produce an heir, to keep me out of the line of succession. Again.”

“I am not familiar with your uncle’s plans or thoughts.

I am only here to administer his estate.

Now, as we have established, you are the sole heir.

There will be more papers to sign, and a full accounting of the late Duke’s holdings will be forthcoming in the next few days. I ask for the funeral?—”

Nathaniel raised his hands. “I will leave that in your capable hands. I see you already have the undertaker here. Good. Say, is it absolutely necessary to have the old gout-ridden goat downstairs in the parlor?”

Crenshaw sucked in a gulp of air. Nathaniel realized he had been a little too crude.

He might never have had a kind thought for his uncle, but Crenshaw had been fond of the old codger.

Just why, he didn’t know. Nobody else seemed to like the man, but it was clear Crenshaw held him in high regard, perhaps because his uncle had kept Crenshaw rolling in coin for decades.

“It is customary until the funeral. People will want to pay their respects.”

“They will? Well, I shall wait with bated breath,” Nathaniel said.

He knew he sounded bitter, but his uncle had pulled him hither and thither for years regarding the inheritance.

In fact, he hadn’t thought he would ever actually inherit, since his uncle had done everything he could to prevent it.

So it was fair enough to say he had no affection for his uncle, but he would do what was necessary.

“Very well, please arrange a dignified funeral for the man. There might be a soul or two out there in the world who may wish to bid him farewell. As for Lady?—”

“Her Grace,” Crenshaw corrected. He was nothing if not proper.

“Yes, her. I shouldn’t have to see her again, shall I?”

“I see no reason to. She will return to Earl Lowey’s home posthaste, I am certain.”

“Lowey?” Nathaniel frowned. He had heard that name before. “Isn’t he the one known for getting run out of Saint Giles because he didn’t pay his debts? I think I read something…”

Crenshaw pulled on his cravat and rolled his shoulders before gathering up his papers. “Something like that. I am uncertain. I pay no mind to scandals.”

“Only when I’m in them, eh, wot? To keep an eye on that no-good Scot.”

Crenshaw rose. “You are no more Scottish than I am Italian, Your Grace. Now, if that will be all…”

“That will be all indeed,” Nathaniel said with a flourish, and got up. He led the man to the door and bade him farewell, glad to have that part over with.

When he turned, he spotted the woman at the top of the stairs again.

He had true trouble thinking of her as a duchess.

He ought to use his position in the House of Lords to establish that one had to be married for at least twenty-four hours before such a title could be bestowed.

It might keep people from making such hasty arrangements.

She glared at him as though she wished she could set him on fire by will alone, then walked away.

He chuckled. He hadn’t been alone with her, but he could tell that, with her temperament, any husband who took her on was going to have his hands full.

Did his uncle have any idea who he was marrying?

Likely not. All he had likely seen was a willing young girl who could produce heirs, which was all he ever cared about.

A knock came, and he turned, rushing for the door, but the butler got there first.

I shall have to accustom myself to such ceremony and circumstance.

Back home in Edinburgh, he did not employ a butler.

Of course, his mother and stepfather had one at their country house outside the city, where he had grown up.

Yet, when he had taken up living by himself, he had done away with such frivolities.

He could cook—because he didn’t know how even to boil water—and had employed a manservant and a maid, but a butler had seemed too much.

Now he stood with his arms crossed behind his back and watched as the butler ceremoniously opened the door and spoke to someone.

“His Grace is unavailable,” the butler—whose name Nathaniel could not recall—said.

“Are you certain? I saw his carriage around the back.”

“Julian?” Nathaniel said, then rushed forward, yanking the door open with such force that the poor butler leaped backward and let out a rather undignified gasp. “That is quite right,” he said, looking the man up and down as though that might conjure up a name.

“Bennett, the butler.”

“Right. Bennett. All is well. This is my good friend Julian Havisham, Marquess of Lynden. I shall handle it.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” the butler said and walked away.

Once he was out of earshot, his friend let out a chuckle. “Your Grace. Nathaniel, the Duke. Whoever thought it was possible?”

“Not I,” Nathaniel said. “Shall we go for a walk? I’d like to take a look around the place. I haven’t been here since I was a wee boy.”

They stepped out into the sunshine, and Julian looked him up and down. “You might want to stop saying things like ‘wee’; otherwise, the other peers will think you’re Scottish.”

“I am almost Scottish, anyhow.”

“You do not sound like it, nor do you have a drop of Scottish blood in you. A half-Scot for a stepfather does not make you Scottish in any way.”

That was true. Though his stepfather was half-Scottish, Nathaniel had grown up in a household full of English servants.

Most of his parents’ friends had been English expatriates in Scotland, and he had retained an English accent at his mother’s insistence—just in case the dukedom ever did fall in his lap.

What would his mother say when he told her that he was now the Duke of Sinclair, despite all of his uncle’s machinations? She would be delighted. As would his stepfather. As for him? He would much rather not have touched the dukedom with a ten-foot pole.

“How come you are here?” he asked his friend.

“When I heard the news, I knew I had to come immediately. To die on his wedding day—that seems extreme, even for your uncle.”

“Well, his legacy is assured. At least now people will spend their time talking about how shocking his death was, not how miserable his life was,” Nathaniel said.

“You sound bitter,” his friend noted.

“I am. My uncle’s title and all its attendant obligations have brought me naught but misfortune. I enjoyed a most satisfactory existence until my father’s demise, whereupon I found myself commanded to Sinclair to assume the duties of heir presumptive.”

“I recall. That’s when we met,” Julian reminded him.

“The sole consolation amidst a procession of calamities. Do you recall how he was? Overbearing, impatient…” He shook his head.

“I recall. I was frightened of him—so much so, my mother wouldn’t let me come to Sinclair Estate anymore.”

“Indeed. I was so happy when Aunt Anne finally produced a son and I could go back to our little house,” he said, recalling how they had been dispatched like unwanted wares when his cousin Albert arrived.

Of course, the following year, both Aunt Anne and Albert had died from the fever, making him heir once again.

Fortunately, his mother had remarried by then, and his stepfather, Arthur, had stopped Uncle Bertram from summoning him a second time.

A good thing too, because soon wife number three had produced another son—a feat that cost the woman her life, but at least his uncle had what he wanted: a son.

One wife, many lost pregnancies, and another son later, Nathaniel had been pushed squarely to third in line—a more than comfortable position for him.

As he reminisced about his lengthy, winding journey, he took a breath. Hints of lavender hung in the air as he ran his hand through his hair, extracting bits of tree pollen that had lodged there.

“It would be just my luck that both my cousins should die before being married and having children of their own,” he grumbled.

Indeed, his last living cousin, Henry, had died in a riding accident. He could not recall what had happened to the cousin before him. All he knew was that somehow, he’d found himself the sole heir again.

“Sometimes I wonder if there is a curse on this house,” he said, shaking his head.

“Is that why you did not move back here when your uncle summoned you after Henry died?” Julian asked. “You know, I would have loved to have you here.”

“I would have liked to be here if it weren’t for that cantankerous windbag.

But no, I was not going to let him uproot me again.

Especially not after he made it very clear that he intended to have another son with some other foolish woman.

And it seemed he was well on his way… until fate intervened. ”

“Your nostrils are flaring, and your shoulders are so tense you look like you’re made of armor,” Julian said, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I know it. I was thinking about all the ways my uncle has ruined my life over and over again.”

“Oh yes,” Julian said dryly. “He certainly ruined it by giving you one of the most powerful titles in the realm, one of the grandest estates in southern England, and a position of immense influence. What a terrible misfortune.”

“Stop it, Julian. You know perfectly well how my life has been. I’m the heir. I’m not the heir. Then I’m heir again. I’m over here, I’m there. One moment I’m an ordinary man without a title, the next I’m decorated with courtesy titles—then they are snatched away at a moment’s notice.”

“This status has never brought me happiness. I should sell it. Sell all of it. Go back to Edinburgh.”

“Yes, Edinburgh,” Julian said with a smirk. “Home to your favorite public houses, scandalous ladies, and gambling dens.”

“I do not gamble,” Nathaniel said, offended.

“Not anymore. I may place a wager here and there, but that’s hardly—never mind.

There are plenty of attractive women in Edinburgh who sought my company long before this title was ever bestowed upon me.

I have no interest in this estate. Or the House of Lords.

Or any of it. It’s all silly anyway. Because once I die, all of it goes back to the Crown. ”

“Come now,” Julian said. “You’re not still talking about never marrying or having children, are you?”

“I am. Marriage is a resilient institution—but not for me. And now that I’m Duke, how will I ever know if anyone wants me for me and not for the title? Women throw themselves at titled, wealthy men. Look at that coin-grabber who married my ancient uncle.”

Julian paused and looked at him. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the young lady. Word is she wasn’t keen on the arrangement. Her father, Langley, is a known scoundrel who likely married her off just to save himself from his debts.”

Nathaniel paused. It was true. He hadn’t truly considered her motivations. He had assumed she was like so many others—someone eager to set her cap for wealth and status. But… he didn’t really know her. She had certainly struck him as a rather peculiar young lady. That was certain.

“What is to become of her?”

“How should I know? She’ll return to her home, and her father will do as he sees fit.”

“He might marry her off to another old gentleman,” Julian said.

Nathaniel shrugged. “I should think not. Her father got what he needed out of her. That’s that.”

Julian let out a belly laugh. “You think just because his current debts are paid, he won’t rack up more? Men like him never change.”

“Well, it is not my concern. All I know is that she needs to leave this house as quickly as possible. If she stays, the gossip rags will do what they always do—create a scandal. I already have enough on my plate.”

No, he decided. No matter what Evelyn Langley’s story was, she was not going to cause any complications for him. He had enough on his plate as it was without involving himself in any way with that spitfire of a woman.

And that was final.